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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533638">styx and stones</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspartaeme/pseuds/aspartaeme'>aspartaeme</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stranger Things (TV 2016)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Inspired by Orpheus and Eurydice (Ancient Greek Religion &amp; Lore), M/M, Mythology - Freeform, angst with a sappy ending if you will, it doesn't end in tragedy tho i promise, the ending's actually uhh pretty sappy folks, the orpheus x eurydice au nobody asked for</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 07:01:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,384</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27533638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspartaeme/pseuds/aspartaeme</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>‘You know why I’m here.’ </p><p>‘Indulge me,’ Hades drawls, scratching behind Cerberus’. Ear, if Steve had to guess. </p><p>‘The one you took from me. I’m here to get him back.’</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>141</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>styx and stones</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i'm,,, so sorry for the title</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
The pomegranate she’s handing out to him is already blood-ripe. Heavy with seeds. 
</p><p>
His mouth waters at the sight.
</p><p>
A fly buzzes around them, circles them a few times before it settles on his thumb. Dangerously close to the fruit. 
</p><p>
Steve sends it flying in the air with a flick of his wrist. The atmosphere’s heavy, stifling. Rotten. Matches the sky, blue-black and smothering, charged with pregnant clouds. Ready to rain hell on them. 
</p><p>
Rain hell. Steve chuckles to himself. 
</p><p>
He doesn’t need hell to come to him. 
</p><p>
The fly isn’t getting the message, hovering and buzzing and testing Steve’s really fucking fragile patience, so he swats it away. Kinda. Violently. 
</p><p>
He can’t afford any mistakes. This is. 
</p><p>
It’s the most important thing he’ll ever do. 
</p><p>
El looks at him, her big eyes two pools of worry. Steve could swear they get bigger every time he sees her. Like her face hasn’t caught up to them yet. Too much worry in such a measly excuse for a girl. 
</p><p>
Her voice is steady, though, when she speaks. Always is. She’s been through way too much to afford a trembling voice. 
</p><p>
‘You know what to do?’
</p><p>
‘Yeah,’ he says. His voice cracks somewhere in the middle, and he clears his throat. Tries again. He needs to get this right. ‘Yeah, I know. You’ll be ready for me?’
</p><p>
She nods, brown curls bouncing with the force of it. Steve can’t be sure of a lot of things in this world, but. He knows she can trust her to be there for him.
</p><p>
For both of them.
</p><p>
He needs to get this right. 
</p><p>
He closes his eyes. Breathes in. It’s suffocating, the smell of rot. Worms its way up his nostrils. Settles in like cotton. 
</p><p>
The pumpkins are black, insects buzzing in and out of them. Nature around them is dying. 
</p><p>
It’s October. Persephone’s already underground. Fulfilling her promise to her husband. 
</p><p>
She’s underground, and everything is dying. 
</p><p>
Steve opens his eyes with a shaking breath. ‘Okay,’ he says, wrapping his arms around his torso. He’s so cold. It’s been three months, and he hasn’t stopped being cold. ‘I’m ready. Do your thing.’ 
</p><p>
The last thing he sees is the blood trickling down her nose.
</p>
<hr/><p>
‘Took you long enough.’ 
</p><p>
Steve blinks, holds his hands out to steady himself. 
</p><p>
He’ll never get used to this. El’s been flying him all over the realm for years, and he still hasn’t shaken the nausea that comes with it. 
</p><p>
Callahan’s voice doesn’t help tilt him in the right direction, either. 
</p><p>
‘Thought you’d be down here lookin’ for your boy come August,’ he drawls, not dismayed in the fucking least by the sight of Steve having his guts rearranged before his eyes. ‘But. No, no, I guess you’re smarter than everyone’s giving you credit for, ain’tcha, golden boy.’ He smacks his lips in the most obnoxious way possible. 
</p><p>
As if Steve needed any more reason to hate him.
</p><p>
‘August means the big guy’s still lonely down there,’ he goes on, thumb pointing to the darkness behind him. Hades’ kingdom. ‘August means he’s in a <em>mood</em>. Way too long without the missus.’ Callahan inches closer, black cloak gliding along behind him. ‘Means your dead boy stays <em>dead</em>.’ 
</p><p>
Steve bristles. It’s been three months, and he’s so cold, and he’d really. Really like to see how his fist looks planted in the middle of Callahan’s face. 
</p><p>
He throws the pomegranate in the air, catches it with the grace of the demigod he fucking is. 
</p><p>
‘Hey, officer,’ he drags out, fumbling around his pocket with his empty hand to find the coin. Like he hasn’t heard a word Callahan threw at him. ‘Which way to the underworld?’
</p><p>
Callahan’s hiss sends the water in the river rippling and rising. ‘You fucking spoiled brat, just because Apollo couldn’t keep it in his pants—’
</p><p>
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Steve laughs. He’s heard it all before. Daddy dearest has a reputation. Being related to the Big Guy opens a lot of doors. A lot of legs, too. 
</p><p>
Steve’s only met his grandfather once, but. He gets it. The dude’s electric. 
</p><p>
‘Here,’ he says, throwing the coin straight into Callahan’s hands, ‘catch.’ 
</p><p>
The moment it sets in is like. The happiest Steve’s been since— 
</p><p>
Callahan looks down, at the silver thing, a thunder on one side, and. 
</p><p>
He hates Zeus, Callahan. Steve knows it all too well. His dad raised him with stories like his, mortals cast in darkness as punishment for their impunity. Callahan’s been running his mouth longer than Steve’s been alive, so. Now he’s doomed to play doorman to the God of Death for the rest of forever. 
</p><p>
‘You’re supposed to smile, now,’ Steve says, a grin smug as all Olympus splitting his face in two, ‘get in your little boat there, and row me to your boss.’
</p>
<hr/><p>
The throne hall is actually. Kinda nice, if Steve’s honest.
</p><p>
He’s been here once before, which is. More than any human can say, really. Went to Hades and lived to tell the tale, but.
</p><p>
Steve is more than human, or. Less than one. Depends on how you look at it. 
</p><p>
Apollo brought him, years ago, when Calliope was still the love of his life, and Steve was still his favorite son. 
</p><p>
Steve remembers gawking up at Hades, his long black hair, his crown made of. Darkness, seemed like. He’d even given Steve a gift, held out an empty palm to weave through air that moved like satin under his touch, kneeled in front of Steve with his palm full. A flute black as the night, like Hades cut a piece of the night sky into shape, resting in it. 
</p><p>
Steve was supposed to take after his father. God of music, and all that. 
</p><p>
He stopped being Apollo’s favorite son the moment he blew into his flute of darkness and nature didn’t come to a halt. 
</p><p>
Being half a god can only get you so far. 
</p><p>
Hades held the title of the cool uncle for years after that visit.
</p><p>
That was before the whole. Persephone affair, though. Steve’s big on consent, and Hades’ <em>thing</em> with Persephone is. Iffy, to say the least. 
</p><p>
Callahan stops the boat a good few feet from the shore. Fucking asshole. 
</p><p>
He leans against his pole for half a second before he registers the three heads glaring at him, petals open and teeth bared. Looking. Real fucking hungry.
</p><p>
Good ol’ Cerberus. 
</p><p>
Callahan stiffens to the sound of a growl, gives the boat a final push to touch ground. 
</p><p>
‘Here we are, <em>your majesty</em>.’ He bows theatrically, showing Steve the way with a flourish. Behind him, a curtain glides open, and Steve catches sight of Hades. ‘And, oh, golden boy? Don’t you worry. Even wannabe gods have to die sometime. You’ll be with your boy, one way or the other.’ 
</p><p>
Steve stops mid-step, one foot suspended in the air. The pomegranate in his palm creaks helplessly, fighting against the tightening of Steve’s grip. 
</p><p>
Three months. He’s been waiting for three months. He’s been cold, and waiting, and concocting the perfect fucking plan, and one puny idiot’s gonna make him blow it all to pieces. 
</p><p>
‘Charon,’ Hades’ voice cuts through Steve’s extremely violent homicidal thoughts, ‘behave. That’s no way to treat our guest.’
</p><p>
Steve exhales fury and desperation. He steps on solid ground, doesn’t deign to spare a look at Callahan pulling away, muttering <em>apologies, your eminence</em>. 
</p><p>
Back to his post. 
</p><p>
Back to his eternal punishment. 
</p><p>
‘Hello, uncle.’ Steve passes a hand through his hair, shivering at the drop of temperature. Things down here are. Chilly. He turns to Hades’ side, taking in Persephone in all her glory. He nods, almost bowing his head. She’s. Majestic. Soaked in sadness, living hand-in-hand with loss. ‘Ma’am.’ 
</p><p>
‘Steven.’ Hades snaps two long, bony fingers, and a third of Cerberus lays on his lap. It looks almost. Almost like a real dog like this, flower head open and tongue hanging on the side. Hades starts. Petting it. ‘It’s been a while.’ 
</p><p>
‘Yeah, well,’ Steve shrugs, ‘nothing like burying yourself to your work to feel alive, right?’ At Hades’ utterly unimpressed raised eyebrow, Steve coughs, straightening up. Battle position. ‘You know why I’m here.’ 
</p><p>
‘Indulge me,’ Hades drawls, scratching behind Cerberus’. Ear, if Steve had to guess. 
</p><p>
‘The one you took from me. I’m here to get him back.’ 
</p><p>
Hades swats at a soul hovering somewhere around the vicinity of his nose. He looks. Moderately annoyed. ‘Steven,’ he says, clicking his tongue, ‘you know I can’t do that. Favouritism is a one-way ticket to Tartarus, and I wouldn’t wish that fate on my worst enemy. Let alone my favorite nephew.’ 
</p><p>
Steve rolls his eyes skywards, wondering if the old guy could spare a couple of thunders, or. A few thousand. 
</p><p>
‘Besides,’ Hades continues, ‘I won him, fair and square. If I’m not mistaken, and. Being infallible’s written in bold in the job description. Your boy took that dive into Styx of his own free will. Almost broke my favorite pet’s fangs letting it bite him. All to save that friend of yours. That paltry little thing who keeps getting <em>away</em>.’ 
</p><p>
The hem of his cloak lights up in blue flames at the mention of El, the girl who cheats Death and laughs in its face, and Persephone wakes up from her comatose sadness to set a palm on her husband’s arm.
</p><p>
Steve. Snickers a bit, at that. 
</p><p>
He chose a side years ago, and it’s only got to do with half the blood running in his veins. 
</p><p>
Has everything to do with a pair of blue eyes, and a smile sharp enough to cut through the string of fate. 
</p><p>
Has to do with how cold everything’s been for the past three months. 
</p><p>
He clears his throat to draw the attention back to the only thing that’s ever mattered. 
</p><p>
‘It wasn’t his time, Uncle H., and you know that more than anyone. He’s still glowing with life. He’s mine, and I want him back.’ 
</p><p>
‘Careful, Steven. The wrong half of you’s more than enough for me. I can send you swimming with your boy for an eternity with just a,’ he snaps his fingers, and a wailing sound echoes through the hall.
</p><p>
Someone’s run out of breaths. 
</p><p>
‘You wouldn’t,’ Steve says, hopes he sounds more certain than he feels. Gods are kids with dollhouses, he’s found out. One more soul won’t mean a thing, not to Hades. 
</p><p>
One less won’t mean a thing, either. 
</p><p>
‘You wouldn’t,’ he repeats, ‘you know how it feels like, Uncle H. Losing the one you love. You lose them, and the world goes on, and you have to go on, too, and all the while you wish you could take their place.’ He turns to Persephone. He hopes the fire he sees behind her eyes is. In his favor. In Billy’s. Billy’s favor. ‘Except <em>you</em> always get it back, don’t you. And I’m here to do the same.’ 
</p><p>
Persephone’s <em>dearest</em>, <em>maybe just this once-</em> gets lost under the sound of Hades’ heavy sigh, put upon and tired like the weight of a thousand souls is resting on his shoulders. 
</p><p>
Well. 
</p><p>
Technically.
</p><p>
‘What do I get out of it?’
</p><p>
Hades’ kingdom is flooded with life the moment the pomegranate breaks open in Steve’s hands. It’s striking, blood-red against all this. Black. All this death. 
</p><p>
Steve takes a step closer. He’s. So close he can taste Billy’s smile on his lips. 
</p><p>
The sweetest fruit couldn’t compare. He needs to get this right. 
</p><p>
He ignores Hades’ question. Scoops out a few seeds. Cerberus’ head. Heads. Have already snapped up in anticipation, nostrils flaring, tongues dripping with saliva for the seeds, and when Steve holds out his palm, fingers dripping with pomegranate juice, all three heads swoop down to lick it clean. 
</p><p>
He. Purrs. Growls, a great big benevolent thing, and he keeps licking at Steve’s hand with one head while the other two nuzzle against his cheek. 
</p><p>
Steve chuckles at that, swiping slime and drool off his face. He steps even closer. Persephone’s been watching the scene with an awareness Steve’s not used to, not from her, the doomed queen of the Underworld, and he thinks.
</p><p>
He’s so close. 
</p><p>
He offers her the fruit, blood-red and fragrant and full of life, like nothing down here is. ‘Your mother sends her regards, your Majesty.’ 
</p><p>
Hades scoffs next to her, but the look she sends his way silences him in a. Heartbeat. 
</p><p>
‘How is she?’ There’s something regal about the sadness in her voice. Something majestic and wonderful and tragic. 
</p><p>
‘She’s in good health, Persephone. Lonely, but.’ Steve glances at her hands, clasped around the fruit, blood-red, alive, held right in front of her heart. The queen of Death ain’t dead no more. ‘She knows she’s right to wait for you. She knows you’re coming back to her.’ 
</p><p>
She regards him for a moment. 
</p><p>
Steve knows what she sees. He’s spent the last three months trying to find traces of himself in the idol staring back from every mirror. He’s clouded in something wild, these days, something wild and lethal and desperate, a cloak woven by loss. 
</p><p>
He lets her look. Nothing left to lose, not anymore.
</p><p>
Not without him. 
</p><p>
‘You really love him, don’t you, sweet boy?’ 
</p><p>
Steve lets out a shaky breath. Comes out this side of a sob. ‘More than life itself,’ he says, the only god he’s ever bowed to in full display for Death and his beloved to see. Steve’s god has been dead for three months, and the world’s not turning. He’ll burn the whole thing to ashes if he needs to, but. He’s getting Billy back. ‘More than anything. More than my own life. I’m here, aren’t I?’
</p><p>
‘Persa, adored, you know we can’t interfere—’
</p><p>
‘Gods do little else, dear.’ It’s. Unsettling, almost, how fast Hades snaps his mouth shut at his wife’s voice. Amusing as all. Hell, too. ‘You do nothing <em>but</em> meddle in human affairs, Hades, you play your little jokes, and you sit back in your thrones, and you sip your nectar, and you watch those poor creatures run wild.’ She huffs, haughty and indignant and. Wonderful. 
</p><p>
She gets it, Steve thinks. She’s less than human, too. 
</p><p>
‘Just once,’ she says, voice soft now. Gentle. ‘Just this once, Hades. Play your little meddling game for a good cause. Reunite these two lovers. Let some life in, beloved.’ 
</p><p>
Hades pinches the bridge of his. Nose, Steve thinks? He’s not sure what use a. Respiratory system is to the god of Death. 
</p><p>
‘My wife seems to think you deserve a life with your boy, Steven.’ He throws Persephone a <em>look</em>. She throws him one back, and Hades sighs. Again. ‘Even <em>more</em> life.’
</p><p>
‘He was cheated—’
</p><p>
‘Don’t push it, Steven. I’m risking my head going against the Big Guy here, but,’ Hades turns his eyes skywards, like maybe he’s expecting to be struck by a stray lightning anytime now, ‘you always were a spoiled kid. Zeus adores you.’ 
</p><p>
‘I’m not here to talk politics, Uncle. I only want one thing.’ He looks at his hands, still stained blood-red from the fruit. ‘He’s all I’ve ever wanted.’ 
</p><p>
Hades considers him for a moment that bleeds into a small eternity. ‘I can’t just. Hand him to you, you know that. He’s a mortal, and he died, fair and square, no matter what your conceited demigod mind might think. You can’t just hop on Charon’s boat with him and sail him back to life.’ 
</p><p>
‘Fine.’ Steve is. Losing his patience, truth be told. He’s so close. He can almost feel Billy’s warmth, seeping through the ice-cold walls of this cursed kingdom. ‘What are the terms? I’ll. I’ll do anything.’ 
</p><p>
Hades huffs a cruel thing. Freezes Steve’s blood in his veins. 
</p><p>
‘You have to prove yourself worthy, young prince.’ He casts his eyes on his wife for the split second it takes for Steve to see the. Humanity underneath. ‘Worthy of this love. Worthy of <em>his</em> love. He proved himself when he jumped in front of that serpent to save you—’ 
</p><p>
‘He did that to save <em>everyone</em>.’ 
</p><p>
‘He did it to save you. That’s why his fire’s still burning. It stayed in him, that love.’ 
</p><p>
Steve feels his knees buckling. The breath he takes is shuddery. Cracked in half. Billy died for <em>him</em>—  
</p><p>
‘Tell me what I have to do.’ 
</p><p>
‘I need to know that you can be patient for him, Steven.’ The King of Death. Raises an eyebrow at Steve’s silent glare. Heaves a sigh in defeat. ‘You’ll walk him back to the light. I’ll hand him to you, and you will both take the path to life together. But,’ he drawls, index raised in the air in warning, ‘you’re not to look at him. Not until you’re past the borders of my kingdom. You cross the threshold, and he’s yours to keep, alive and breathing. You lose your patience, turn around to face him, and he’s lost to you. For all of eternity.’ 
</p><p>
The questions buzz around Steve’s mouth like wasps. Pricking his gums to let them out, but.
</p><p>
He remembers all the stories he’s heard. He grew up with bedtime tales of human pain and sacrifice, of gods dipping one finger in the water to raise ripples, and storms, and waves. All to entertain themselves. An offer at their altar. 
</p><p>
He nods. Hades wants to play, Steve will indulge him. Anything—anything. If it means getting Billy back. 
</p><p>
‘Very well.’ Hades snaps his fingers, and a scruffy looking waif materializes out of. Thin air. He follows behind it, walking towards the black curtain at the other end of the room. He turns back before vanishing behind it. 
</p><p>
‘Persa will take you to your meeting place. Oh, and Steven?’ He laughs, bitter and breathy. Deadly. ‘Till next time.’
</p>
<hr/><p>
Persephone walks him through dark corridors, lit only by a few torches here and there. The sole reminder that light still exists. 
</p><p>
It’s. It’s easy to forget, down here. 
</p><p>
Steve suspects the fire was her idea. A taste of home. 
</p><p>
She stops them in front of a big tunnel-like structure. Life at the other end of it is betrayed by the gust of wind that reaches them. Steve breathes it in, the crispness of it. 
</p><p>
‘That’s as far as I’m allowed,’ she says next to him. She’s gulping down the breeze, filling her lungs with it. The golden bands around her wrists are glowing unnaturally, vibrating and tightening to remind her of her duty. 
</p><p>
Steve sinks his nails in his palms. This one isn’t his fight. ‘Thank you,’ he mutters. He finds out he means it the moment it leaves his mouth. ‘Will you. Will you be okay?’ 
</p><p>
‘I share a bed with the god of Death,’ she laughs. ‘I’d argue no living being is in a more favorable position. Well,’ she cups his cheek, fondness taking over her features. Wistfulness, too. ‘Except maybe you. You get to live your whole life up there with the man you adore.’
</p><p>
Steve closes his eyes at the touch. It’s been so cold without Billy. He’s starting to remember how warmth feels again. ‘He’ll die, eventually.’
</p><p>
‘As will you. As will I. It’s a losing game, sweet thing. So you treasure every moment and pray for the moment your souls reunite again. Yours and his—they’re bound for eternity, now.’ 
</p><p>
He has to bite down at his trembling lip to fend off the tears. A life with Billy, that’s. That’s the most precious gift of all. 
</p><p>
Nothing’s ever felt as holy before. 
</p><p>
He nods towards the black mouth of the tunnel before them. ‘I just. Start walking? And he follows behind me?’ 
</p><p>
A shadow passes over her face before she. She wraps her arms around him, the heavy smell of ripe fruit settling in Steve’s nostrils. ‘Tread with care,’ she whispers, ‘feed him all your love.’
</p><p>
She’s gone the next second. Steve’s facing the darkness alone. 
</p><p>
His fingers close around something. When he looks down, three red drops are sitting in the middle of his palm. 
</p><p>
The smell of pomegranate has made a home in his lungs.
</p>
<hr/><p>
He starts walking. 
</p><p>
He’s not sure what he’s waiting for, until he hears it. 
</p><p>
Footsteps close behind. 
</p><p>
His breath catches in his throat.
</p><p>
He thinks of all the months he spent in the cold. Everything was cold, and Hades. 
</p><p>
Never said anything about talking. 
</p><p>
‘Billy?’ It stings, a bit, how unfamiliar the name feels in his mouth. Like the muscles have atrophied. Like the memory of Billy’s name has faded through months of disuse. It tastes. Rusty, almost. ‘Hey, baby.’ 
</p><p>
There’s nothing but silence around them, silence and darkness, and the urge to turn around washes over Steve in waves. 
</p><p>
It’s so dark, he thinks, maybe. Maybe it won’t matter, maybe it wouldn’t count— 
</p><p>
‘Baby? Can you grab my hand?’ 
</p><p>
He manages to keep the trembling out of his voice, and then he. He can’t do it anymore. They’re so. Cold, the fingers that wrap around his. Almost. Deadly so. 
</p><p>
Billy’s quiet, and he’s cold, and he’s— 
</p><p>
He can make out a tiny white dot, far enough to be a dream. They’re getting close. He can almost make out shapes now. Rocks and stalactites and streams of icy water. 
</p><p>
Billy—Billy’s hand in his. Ice cold. Barely there. Only a shadow.
</p><p>
The pomegranate seeds are almost glowing in his palm. Persephone knew. She. She <em>knew</em>.  
</p><p>
‘I just need one clue,’ he mutters, desperation seeping into every syllable, every breath, ‘just one, please. Please, baby, I’m so close—’
</p><p>
The white dot is eating up more and more darkness, and Steve. Thinks he’s imagining it, the moment Billy’s fingers tighten around his, the sharp intake of breath, thinks it’s his mind playing games, or maybe Hades, playing his unholy little game, thinks. It’s all over, it will all be over, it will all go cold again— 
</p><p>
‘The first,’ Billy rasps, and everything stops. It’s hoarse, his voice, tinted with rust, unused for so long. It’s. The best thing Steve’s ever heard. Billy clears his throat, nails digging into Steve’s skin. ‘<em>Steve</em>,’ he tries, ‘the first. The last, I’m there. Hurry.’ 
</p><p>
The light goes impossibly brighter for the split second it takes for Steve to make a decision. He’s hoping. Praying to every god he’s ever met, ever heard of, that Persephone was right. That her plan. Will work. 
</p><p>
He gulps down the seeds like his life depends on it. Like <em>Billy’s</em> is. For all he knows— 
</p><p>
He keeps his eyes shut when he turns around. Inhales something sharp when his hand finds Billy’s cheek, so. So cold. Almost— 
</p><p>
He blinks them open a second before their lips meet. Billy’s almost. Glowing, skin paper-thin and ghostlike and. Translucent. Transparent, almost. Almost like Steve’s hand should be going through him, a spectre in the form of the love of Steve’s life. 
</p><p>
He brings Billy’s face closer for a kiss. Shivers through it, trembles against Billy’s lips, cold and deathlike. His tongue’s still curled around the pomegranate seeds, and he pushes them into Billy’s mouth the moment he gasps his lips open for Steve.
</p><p>
He traces their glide down Billy’s throat with his eyes, three red dots lighting Billy up from the inside. 
</p><p>
Billy’s shadow’s already fading away, becoming less and less solid against Steve, less and less real. 
</p><p>
Time’s up. 
</p><p>
The game was rigged from the start, but Steve broke the rules anyway. He kisses as much breath into Billy as his lungs can manage, and he cries out his name, cries out a promise, ‘I’m coming, wait for me, I’m coming to get you—’ and. 
</p><p>
He’s all alone. Bathed in white, blinding light. 
</p><p>
He digs the heels of his palms in his eyes. He clings to the colors exploding behind his eyelids like it’s the only thing left in this world. Focuses on it, the swirls and the flurries of red, and yellow, and blue. Seems like all the colors were drained from this world the moment Billy’s lifeless body hit the ground, the beast’s fangs still buried under his heart. 
</p><p>
It’s that thought that does it. Wakes Steve up, fills him with an anger he hasn’t felt in months. 
</p><p>
He’s so close. Can’t give up now. 
</p><p>
He searches his pocket for the handkerchief he knows Max sneaked in before he left to find El at their meeting point. The damned pumpkin field. 
</p><p>
He ties it tightly over his eyes. 
</p><p>
He yells, ‘El? Pull me out!’ and. 
</p><p>
He dies. 
</p>
<hr/><p>
The smell of rot overwhelms him the moment he wakes up, and he doubles down, knees and palms sinking into mud and pumpkin pulp. A hand is stroking his back while he’s kneeling like a kicked dog, mouth open, gulping down mouthfuls of air, trying to empty his stomach of the darkness he swallowed underground. 
</p><p>
Flames burst in front of him, and Max shakes his shoulders. ‘Where is he? <em>Steve</em>. Where’s my brother, what—’ 
</p><p>
‘Don’t push.’ El’s soothing lilt cuts through Max’s frantic tone just in time. Steve’s one question away of giving up and letting the ground take him. Maybe that’s the only way to get to Billy again.
</p><p>
El’s looking at him with her brown eyes soaked in concern, already stringing up comforting sentences in her mind. Steve knows. He taught her how to care for people. Fake it until you don’t need to anymore. Until it’s all real.
</p><p>
‘Did he—You couldn’t. Pull him out with you?’  
</p><p>
‘Please.’ There are tears streaming down Max’s face, falling to the dead ground in vain. Nothing grows out here, not anymore. ‘Where is he? What happened?’
</p><p>
Steve pushes himself up with only the smallest help from El. Snatches the car keys out of Max’s hand, already walking away. ‘My family <em>sucks</em>, that’s what happened.’ 
</p><p>
He turns when he’s almost at the edge of the field, finds El and Max still glued to their spot. 
</p><p>
‘Let’s move it,’ he yells, arms opening wide like wings. He’ll fly away, one day. He’ll wrap Billy in his arms and get them away from here. ‘Billy’s waiting, kittens. He hates being stood up.’ 
</p>
<hr/><p>
He knows exactly where he’s going. 
</p><p>
Max and El are really testing his patience in the backseat, and. Okay, Steve’s a demigod, but. Patience has its limits. 
</p><p>
The clue Billy whispered to him, <em>the first, the last</em>, it’s. Steve speeds all the way to the quarry, tires skidding on half-deserted roads, screeching on the asphalt. 
</p><p>
It’s where they shared their first kiss, so many years ago. They were still skirting around each other, back then, Steve. Wanting. Wanting so much, for the first time, in a way that felt so unfamiliar, so. So human. 
</p><p>
Steve’d asked Billy to drive them up there, the closest Billy’s trapped existence could get to water. He missed home, Steve knew that, felt Billy’s pain and longing and anger in every bone of his body, itched to steal one of his grandfather’s thunders and plunge it right through the middle of Neil Hargrove’s skull for condemning Billy to a life away from his ocean. 
</p><p>
Steve could leave, if he wanted to. 
</p><p>
He never did. Apollo’s mansion had never been used, anyway, was left to grow mold and ivy and ghosts, so. 
</p><p>
Steve stayed. 
</p><p>
He made a home in Hawkins, not in the house Apollo’d never lived in, but in a boy cracked in all the wrong ways. Steve slipped through one of the cracks, and. Stayed. 
</p><p>
Billy’d parked dangerously close to the edge, gotten them both out to stare at the mouth of the abyss below them, and Steve. Had asked, then, because it’d been gnawing his mind ever since Billy first talked to him about it. He’d been trying to figure out the logistics of fitting. Horses inside that stupid blue box of Billy’s, that’s what Billy’d said, thirty whole horses, and he. 
</p><p>
When he’d turned around, he’d found Billy looking at him with something soft over his features. Something easy and beautiful and so, so undeniably human, something. Steve’d thought unreachable for him, for creatures like him, half-in and half-out of this world, right. Until that moment. Until that look on Billy’s face, until that step Billy’d taken to press Steve against his stupid blue Camaro, drape himself all over Steve.
</p><p>
Until Billy’s lips had sealed over his, stealing the words out of Steve’s mouth, stealing. His breath, too. 
</p><p>
Steve had just. Given it to him. Billy needed it more than him anyway. 
</p><p>
It’s where they shared their first kiss, and Steve’s fingers dig into the leather of the wheel at the memory, at every mile of the distance between them and the quarry the car devours, because it’s. 
</p><p>
It’s where they shared their last kiss, too, Billy grabbing Steve’s face between his palms and kissing him goodbye, seconds before. Flunging himself in front of El. Planting his body between her and Hades’ domesticated pet serpent, colossal and lethal and out for blood, sent to test the girl who wouldn’t die. 
</p><p>
It hadn’t worked. El didn’t. Didn’t die. 
</p><p>
Billy did. 
</p><p>
Steve’s done with family games. He’s bringing Billy the <em>fuck</em> home. 
</p><p>
He’s fumbling with the door before the car stops moving, feels El and Max joining him at the edge of the cliff. They wouldn’t be here, not if Steve had a say in it, but. 
</p><p>
Not even real gods can handle these two. Zeus’ wrath couldn’t keep Max away from her brother, Steve knows that. He. He gets that. Couldn’t, not. Before stumbling upon this beautiful, broken boy, couldn’t fathom giving your life, your breath, your. Everything for someone, but. 
</p><p>
He gets it now. 
</p><p>
It’s usually still, the water down here, but now it’s splashing wildly against the rocks, raging with a fury Steve’s never witnessed before. It parts around a maelstrom, swirls helplessly round and round until it’s sucked in its yawning mouth, and Steve.
</p><p>
He finds what he’s looking for. 
</p><p>
Max follows his gaze, right at the middle of the vortex, gasps when she spots the red light radiating out of. Billy’s body, trapped in the center of the structure. Keeping it alive.
</p><p>
She turns to Steve, eyebrows raised in a silent question, and Steve shrugs off his coat, tilts his head, eyes never leaving Billy, never letting him out of his sight, not ever again, ‘Persephone knows her husband better than anyone, turns out.’ 
</p><p>
‘The pomegranate,’ she breathes. Out of the corner of his eyes, Steve can see her, eyes blue and wide, and so. So much like Billy’s. 
</p><p>
He nods. ‘It’s keeping him alive, but. Not for long.’ He turns to her, then, to El, too, both already prepared, both already knowing what’s coming, when he says, ‘He’s waiting for me.’ 
</p><p>
‘Be careful,’ Max sniffles, fingers twitching like she’s reaching for him, like she’s. Reaching for her brother. ‘And bring—bring him back?’ 
</p><p>
‘Not swimming back unless he’s with me, kid. Promise.’ 
</p><p>
El winces next to her. She bites her lip, like she’s trying to swallow the words down. ‘No more games,’ she mumbles after a moment. 
</p><p>
She loses that fight. Can’t keep the guilt out of her voice. The bitterness, either. 
</p><p>
Steve tilts her head up with a finger under her chin. Forces her to meet his eyes. He shakes his head. ‘No more games. We keep our family safe.’ 
</p><p>
He takes the last two steps to the edge. He hesitates for a second, and then he. Dives in. 
</p><p>
He cuts through the water like a bullet. The current’s strong, and Steve lets himself get carried closer to the center of the whirlpool. Closer to Billy. Souls are floating restlessly around him, vestiges of people long gone. 
</p><p>
Billy. He looks so. Alive, bright against the dark waters, the only light emanating from the pomegranate seeds in him. He’s. Drifting, kept afloat by a column of water, the most precious exhibit in this liquid grave. 
</p><p>
He looks like he’s sleeping. A child of the ocean, finally back where he belongs. 
</p><p>
Except. Except he doesn’t, Steve knows Billy belongs with him. He knows what their future looks like, and neither of them die here. 
</p><p>
The water’s working against him, but the thought of Billy in his arms, warm and breathing and alive, it. Propels him forward. He wraps his arms around Billy’s body, unconscious but so. So alive, so different from every dead thing around them. Steve’s wonderful, broken boy.
</p><p>
His stupid boyfriend, who traded his life for a demigod and a girl who keeps fooling death. 
</p><p>
Steve loves him so much. He never thought he could love anything. Anyone, the way he loves Billy. 
</p><p>
He tries dragging them out of the current, one hand parting the waters, one hand tight around Billy’s waist. He feels the exhaustion settling in his bones, water pushing them further and further into the vortex, and he thinks. This is it, this is where he stops fighting. 
</p><p>
He looks up. Max is screaming, voice lost under the rumble of the waves, and El. 
</p><p>
Steve sees her arms, outstretched in front of her, can make out a line of blood running down her nose, and he holds Billy close, close, closer— 
</p><p>
The force that pulls them out is violent, almost. Almost stubborn. El—she’s keeping her family safe. 
</p><p>
Steve cuts through the surface, meets solid ground with a grunt. He coughs out all the water in his lungs, and it. It takes a moment to set in. The breathing—it should be coming from both of them. 
</p><p>
There’s only his own. 
</p><p>
He sits up, drags Billy’s body on his lap. Cradles his head in his arms, every movement soaked in something frantic. He can’t be—Billy can’t be— 
</p><p>
‘C’mon,’ he whispers against Billy’s temple, life pouring out of him in waves, lips kissing it on Billy’s skin, ‘c’mon, baby, c’mon, I know you’re in there, wake the fuck up, Billy, baby, just—just open your eyes for me—’ 
</p><p>
He feels a hand settling on the top of his head a minute later, stroking his hair, <em>too late, too late, too late</em>, except it can’t be, it can’t— 
</p><p>
Billy rolls to his side with a groan dragged out of the pits of the earth, coughing something wild, sputtering, so. So fucking alive. 
</p><p>
Steve hears Max sucking in a breath, a laugh, the first one he’s heard out of her in months, and then he. He can’t hear anything else, can’t feel anything other than Billy’s lips on him. Warm, and. So, so alive. 
</p><p>
Billy tastes like home. He tastes like pomegranate, and salt water, and. Home.
</p><p>
He pulls back, shivering, laughing wide and feral and happy, and Steve. Just. Takes a second to scan his eyes over Billy’s face, etch every detail in his mind. Has to stop when he meets Billy’s eyes, an ocean trapped inside them, only for Steve, because Billy. 
</p><p>
He’s already looking right back at Steve.
</p><p>
Steve’s met gods, and humans, and everything in between. He knows how it feels like, being looked at with reverence. With adoration, like he’s holy. Like he’s <em>good</em>. 
</p><p>
Nothing’s ever felt like this, Billy looking back at him like maybe he knows he’s Steve’s god. Like maybe. Maybe Steve’s the only god Billy’s ever bowed to. 
</p><p>
Like his prayers have been answered, and they all look like Steve. 
</p><p>
‘I can’t fuckin’ believe you outsmarted the god of Death for me, sweetheart,’ Billy growls against his lips, ‘that’s the hottest fuckin’ thing anyone’s ever done in the history of this cursed world.’
</p><p>
Steve. Laughs, so impossibly, miraculously happy. Nods to the three pomegranate seeds Billy coughed out of him a moment ago. ‘Persa helped, y’know.’ 
</p><p>
‘I hate your fuckin’ family,’ Billy laughs, curls bouncing wildly when he shakes his head.
</p><p>
‘I know. Was thinkin’ maybe we could make one of our own, if. You’re up for it.’
</p><p>
Billy. Somehow looks. Infinitely more in love. ‘Did you just—fucker,’ he shoves Steve, weakly, not even fixing to hurt him, not even a bit, ‘you did <em>not</em> just propose to me when I smell like dead souls and fish.’ 
</p><p>
Steve fights the impulse to throw his head back and laugh, happier than he’s ever. Ever been. Doesn’t feel like letting Billy out of his sight, not yet, not. Not ever. He takes Billy’s face in his hands instead. ‘I’m a god, baby. I can do whatever I want.’ He leaves a kiss on the corner of Billy’s mouth. ‘Say yes?’
</p><p>
‘Half a god,’ Billy grumbles, except he’s having a really hard time fighting the smile splitting his face in half, so. ‘Ask me first.’ 
</p><p>
‘Okay. ‘m asking. Marry me. Fuckin’—become a member of my fucked up family. It’s the chance of a lifetime, babe. Can’t get better than that.’ 
</p><p>
‘’m sure it could,’ Billy hums, staring at the seeds on the ground, pressing his body against Steve. ‘I mean. This calls for a celebration, right? You think if you squeezed some of that juice on your—’
</p><p>
‘Right here,’ Max’s voice cuts through, laced with a panic Steve has never heard Max displaying before. Not even when Billy was like. Dead, and everything. ‘We’re right here, have been, actually? For a while, now. And pomegranates are officially ruined for me, thanks for that.’
</p><p>
Billy. He’s gleaming with life, with happiness, when he reaches out to ruffle Max’s hair. Doesn’t let go of Steve for a moment. 
</p><p>
‘Hey, chicks,’ he drawls, eyes travelling from Max to El, who’s looking. Unsure. Like maybe she doesn’t. Deserve to be here. Billy smiles sweetly at her, and she. She melts, whole body sagging with relief. ‘I’m thinkin’ a spring wedding, how’s that sound? You can go wild with it, wear flower crowns, the works.’ 
</p><p>
El takes Max’s hand, nods, once, and Steve swears, he swears he can see tears in Billy’s eyes when she uses her serious, grown-up-way-too-soon voice, says, ‘Family.’ 
</p><p>
Steve buries his face in the space under Billy’s throat, feels the rumble of Billy’s voice under his lips when he says it back, this one word, the key to everything, ‘Yeah, kid. Family.’ 
</p><p>
He leaves a kiss on Billy’s pulse, rabbit-wild and there, there, there. Billy shivers, and Steve tightens his arms around him, and he thinks of decades of this, of holding his boy in his arms, of a whole life ahead of them. 
</p><p>
Maybe even. Maybe even a forever. 
</p><p>
Zeus owes Steve a couple favors anyway. Maybe it’s time he cashed them in. 
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://aspartaeme.tumblr.com/post/634627209225732096/styx-and-stones-m-64k-you-know-why-im">moodboard</a> </p><p>yes the last scene is shamelessly inspired by hercules (1997), an undisputed masterpiece if ya ask me. yes i know that's not how orpheus' myth goes, but. lbr we'd all be pretty mad if i kept the og end so. we're rolling with it</p><p>i tried to squeeze in as many references from the actual myth as i could, and i. hope it wasn't confusing? anyway here's my <a href="https://aspartaeme.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> if u wanna talk or ask me anything or just plain scream at me. i promise i'll scream back</p></blockquote></div></div>
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